


12 Kinds of Love [Translated]

by therm0dynamics



Category: True Detective
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:04:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1570256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therm0dynamics/pseuds/therm0dynamics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in 12 short vignettes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	12 Kinds of Love [Translated]

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [12种示爱方式](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549046) by [Polka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polka/pseuds/Polka). 



**1.**

“I’d invite you to sit, but …”

Marty, following Rust’s line of sight, sweeps his gaze across the empty space and finally settles on the mattress on the floor. It’s the only object in the room that could be considered furniture – _barely_.

“Don’t worry about it. I won’t stay long,” Marty shrugs.

When Marty visits again next week, he notices two new folding chairs leaning on the wall by the window. Rust pulls one over to him, unfolding the other beside it.

—

**2.**

“Marty still hasn’t come back?”

“Sorry, no – would you like to come in and have something to drink?”

“No, it’s alright. Where should I return the lawnmower?”

“Right here’s fine.”

“The grass needs cutting again. It grows quickly in the summer.”

“I’ve told Marty already. He should deal with it himself.”

“I’ll do it. I’ve got nothing to do while I wait for him to get back. I need to talk to him about the case.”

“Well, in that case, thank you very much. I’ll go make dinner – perhaps you’d like to stay and eat with us once he comes home?”

“Oh … if you don’t mind.”

—

**3.**

“What the _fuck_ did you say to me?” Marty roars, shoving Rust backwards.

Rust staggers a few steps before regaining his balance, and slowly raises his hands in surrender – a gesture that does nothing to placate his partner.

“I said, the storage room isn’t the best place to make … _personal_ calls.”

“Were you at the door? You’re like a damn dog, sniffing around where you shouldn’t be, and now you’re fucking eavesdropping on me, too?”

“This is a _storage room_ , Marty. Anyone’s free to come and go. Besides, you were making a lot of noise in here.”

“What the hell do you want?”

“I'm just trying to warn you – ”

“Like it even matters to you.”

“Like it _doesn’t_ matter to me.”

—

**4.**

“What’s this?”

“A present.”

“From you?”

“Yeah.”

“For _me_?”

“Mhm.”

“Why?”

“Maggie’s throwing you a birthday party and she invited me, so I thought I’d get you something.”

“She didn’t tell me she was doing that.”

“I suppose she wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You know, you shouldn’t tell people about surprises, otherwise it’s not much of a surprise anymore.”

“Oh.”

“What’d you get me, anyway - a book? _The Art of Murder?_ _How to Interrogate a Corpse? Introduction to Chaos Theory?_ ”

“Hilarious, Marty. I hope you like it.” 

—

**5.**

“Are you doing anything tonight?” Marty asks Rust as he sheds his uniform and stuffs it into his locker.

“Why?” Rust asks, glancing over as he buttons up his shirt.

“Maggie and I are going out with a friend, Laura - you should meet her. She’s a nurse.”

“And I thought Maggie would've run out of nurses to introduce to me by now,” Rust says, falling still.

“What?”

Leaving the last few buttons on his shirt loose, Rust snatches his jacket from where it's hanging. “It's just not gonna happen, Marty. But thanks for always thinking of me.”

“Fuck you. Your attitude is exactly why people are always so annoyed with you. You really need to find yourself a girl. It’ll only do you good. If you’re not interested in nurses, tell me. I’ll get Maggie to look somewhere else. She takes cooking classes too, she knows a lot of people – ”

“See you next week,” Rust interrupts, slamming his locker door shut and striding out without another word.

Marty grimaces. He still can’t figure out why Rust is so obstinately resistant about the matter. He sits there thinking for a long while, but when he comes up with no answers, just shakes his head and gives up.

—

**6.**

“Time is a flat circle. We are doomed to repeat everything that we do and everything that we will ever do. Over and over and over again – ”

“Yeah, _whatever -_ "

" – but at least this is better than any other option. At least you and I are trapped in the same loop of existence. Together.”

“ - you know what? Quesada bought me a bottle of wine the other day. It’s in that drawer, and I’ve got two cups here. You wanna try some?”

—

**7.**

Rust gulps down the dregs of his coffee.

The clock hanging on the wall behind the bar reads 10 o’clock. Standing next to them, drinking alone, is a girl dressed in a skintight t-shirt and fluorescent neon shorts. Marty’s magnetically drawn to her, his gaze wandering up and down her body until at last coming to rest on her barely-covered ass.

Rust takes one look at him and raps on the counter.

“Tab,” he barks, gesturing at him and his partner.

Marty tears his attention away from the girl next to them and focuses back on Rust, looking ready to say something.

“I didn’t drive here tonight. You need to send me home on your way back,” Rust cuts him off.

—

**8.**

Marty never asks Rust about his daughter. If Maggie hadn’t told him the story, he would never have known.

That is, until the one case they work, on a tip by the neighbor of a pair of young addicts. As it turns out, the junkies think their kid's being too noisy, so they lock him in the shed behind the house. The neighbor hears the constant crying, and after a few days of silence, recognizes that unmistakeable stench.

When they pry open the padlock on the shed, Marty has to swiftly avert his gaze.

Rust is the one that drags the delirious couple to the car, his face like thunder, his motions mercilessly harsh. After emerging from the interrogation room, Marty watches him chain-smoke cigarette after cigarette. That night, when he asks Rust if he wants to go drinking, Rust doesn’t refuse.

After three beers, he fishes out a faded wallet from his coat pocket and hands it to Marty.

“What are you doing?” Marty asks.

“Inside pocket,” Rust says, scouring his face with his hands. He keeps his head bowed and his eyes hidden. “That’s my daughter. I want you to take a look.”

Marty pulls out the photograph of a little girl sitting in Rust’s lap. A long time passes as he examines it.

“I need another drink,” he finally says.

—  
 **9.**

“I can’t go alone,” Marty says, pacing restlessly.

“Bring Maggie,” Rust says, smoking calmly by the window.

“Fuck, man, they’re commending _both_ of us, not just me.”

“I’m sick, I’ve got something else to do, I’m out of town. Give them whatever excuse you can think of.”

“Hell, I already promised everyone you’d be there. Look, you only have to sit there,  _I’ll_ give the speech. This kind of thing only happens once a year - I'll owe you a favor for this, alright?”

“Is this really that important to you?”

“Of course it is. I don’t want people to think the two of us are having issues or something. I know you don’t really care about being promoted – well, you don’t care what _anyone_ else thinks of you, just in general – but you gotta look at it from my perspective for a second. We're  _partners_. We’re tied together. To _each other_.”

“Oh.” Rust extinguishes his cigarette and glances at his watch. “What time does it start?”

“Eight?” Marty says, glancing askance at Rust, thrown off-guard by the sudden and straightforward response. After a brief pause, he ventures, “you know you have to dress up, right? Do you have a clean suit?”

“I’ll check,” Rust responds.

—  
 **10.**

When Rust hurries over, he finds Marty squatting on the steps outside the bar, both hands pressed tightly to his nose, fingers coated with blood.

“Hey. Are you alright?”

Only when Marty nods does Rust roll up his sleeves and stride straight toward the two smug-looking punks hanging around by the door.

—

**11.**

Rust pulls the thermometer from under his arm. 101 degrees. In the mirror, his eyes are inflamed, bloodshot.

He shuffles through the pile of books and papers on the table and digs out the medicine box. After checking to make sure the aspirin isn't expired, he washes a tablet down with a mouthful of water, drapes on his shirt, and walks out the door.

Marty, parked across the road, is sitting behind the wheel drinking a can of Coke. He sizes Rust up as he slumps into the passenger seat.

“What happened to you? You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“Start driving,” Rust says.

“You sure you don’t wanna go home and lie down? I can take care of this by myself.”

“ _Start driving_ ,” Rust repeats, tilting his head back on the headrest and closing his eyes.

He doesn’t expect to fall asleep - he _never_ falls asleep in cars, especially not after the years spent undercover - but he startles awake to discover that his whole body is pressed up against the car door. They're stopped in the parking lot of the motel they’re meant to investigate.

Marty is nowhere in sight.

Rust, feeling groggy, rolls down the car window and takes in a deep breath of the humid, grass-scented air. He shifts around to find a more comfortable sleeping position and closes his eyes again.

—

**12.**

They stop for lunch in a fast-food joint of some town or other and eat by the window, basking in what little light filters in from the pale noon sun. Marty munches on his burger and fries and washes it down with a glass of juice. Rust just picks at his sandwich.

“Hey Crash, that you?” comes a sudden voice from behind them. A burly, fat man swaggers up, holding a tray of food. He moves to slide into one of the empty seats at their table.

“Juan,” Rust drawls, shooting Marty a loaded glance.

Marty looks at his watch.

“Let’s go. We’re gonna be late,” he says impassively.

Juan slowly, carefully scrutinizes the pair. The incongruity of the skull tattoos on the huge man’s arms and the half-eaten burger dangling comically from his mouth makes Marty want to laugh. Almost.

“Everyone’s dyin’ to know where you gone off to, Crash. Didn’t expect I’d see you _here_ , of all places – who’s this son of a bitch?”

“Marty,” Rust says tersely. “My friend.”

“ _Right_ … and what _exactly_ did you say you were doin’ these days? I think you oughta come out drinkin’ with the rest of the crew tonight.”

“I quit drinking,” Rust says, and stands up. “Let’s go.”

Marty grabs his half-finished food and walks side-by-side out the door with Rust.

**Author's Note:**

> 我仍然觉得翻译俚语还是挺难, 所以如果我翻译错了, 是我的错 !!
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed this one!! any mistakes, mistranslations, or misinterpretations are DEFINITELY my fault (because what the heck is slang, man)


End file.
